Double, Double Toil and Trouble
by windscryer
Summary: It's just another day in paradise and Sam can't help but wonder when 'paradise' became synonymous with 'hell'.


Disclaimer: One day. One day very soon... *cackles*

**TIMELINE MARKER:**

Yeah, I have no idea. Sometime after they met and before they all died. Fair enough?

* * *

"I can't leave you two alone for five seconds, can I?" Sam asked, though the sigh that capped the statement made it more of a rhetorical question.

Not that it stopped his listeners from answering.

"What? Like this was _my_ fault?" Shawn said. "Your brother was the one—"

"Who saved your ass, dude," Dean cut in. "That bitch was going to take your damn head off."

"So tripping and accidentally knocking someone over is what? Your dad's secret ninja move he passed on to you?" Shawn drawled.

"As a matter of fact, yes!" Dean said. "Because I didn't trip! That was a carefully calculated move to keep her from realizing what was happening until it was too late."

"Uh huh. And the sincere apology?"

"Sincere my ass," Dean said and took a swig of his drink. "I had to make it look good."

"For who?" Shawn demanded. "The dead people in their graves? I don't think they were grading you on your style, dude."

Sam worked in silence, mostly ignoring the argument between the two as he methodically patched them up, sewing stitches in Shawn's scalp where he'd been cut by the edge of a tombstone and securing an ice pack to Dean's wrenched knee with an ace bandage to minimize the swelling.

"You know what? Next time I'm gonna let her kick your ass. And then I'm gonna point and _laugh_ at you, laying on the ground crying like a little girl because some chick beat you up."

Sam rolled his eyes as Shawn snorted. Because that wasn't a bluff or anything.

One that was revealed when Dean shot Sam a sharp look when Shawn hissed at the sting of alcohol on a cut on his shoulder.

Sam covered the slice with antibiotic cream and a gauze pad that was taped in place quickly.

"Are you done yet?" Shawn said, the barest hint of an adult hiding behind the whine in his tone.

Sam just dug out a couple bottles and doled out a handful of pills.

"Here," he said, following it up with a bottle of water before he turned to Dean to repeat the process.

"I'm f—"

"Take the fucking pills, Dean, or so help me..."

Dean eyed his brother warily, but accepted the pills, throwing them back before washing them down with water from the bottle that same thrust into his hand moments after stealing his drink.

"No, it's okay, I was done with that," Dean muttered.

Sam froze on the way to the bathroom, but besides a tightening of his shoulders and a whitening in his fingers where they wrapped around the neck of the bottle, he gave no sign that he'd heard. He exhaled slowly and moved on toward his destination, taking a healthy chug in hopes that it would help mellow the desire to strangle both his brother and their mutual friend—or buy time at the very least.

"Ow! That hurts, Dean!"

"No, you're just a pussy. Lemme see—"

"DAMMIT, STOP!"

"WELL HOLD STILL!"

Sam dropped the bottle in the trash and stalked back out into the room.

"THAT IS ENOUGH!"

Shawn and Dean froze in what would have been a somewhat compromising position if one didn't know the two very well.

"He started it," Shawn said.

"Did not!" Dean protested with a glare.

"I DON'T CARE WHO STARTED IT! I'M ENDING IT." One long arm ending in a rigid finger pointed to the bed nearest the door. "_Dean_." The other swung out and landed on the other bed. "_Shawn._" Eyebrows furrowed over dark hazel eyes. "_Now_."

There was no argument, just the shuffling of clothes as the two disentangled themselves and went to their respective beds.

Sam strode angrily to the table and grabbed a chair, then returned, plunking it down with a thud between the two beds. He then went to the door, double checked the locks and salt, and flipped off the lights.

Returning to the chair he dropped into the seat and furrowed his fingers into his hair, digging the pads into his scalp and massaging in vain hopes it would do something about the pounding in his skull.

Blessed silence reigned for a good five minutes before Shawn's quiet voice came out of the darkness.

"Sorry, Sam."

Sam sighed.

"I'm not," Dean said petulantly and Sam rolled his eyes, letting his head fall back.

"Just go to sleep, both of you," Sam said.

There was some shifting and moving around until they both found comfortable positions.

Sam checked his watch, noting that the glow-in-the-dark hands were starting to fade and maybe it was time for a replacement.

Assuming of course he made it through the night without killing someone. He probably wouldn't need a good watch in prison.

Sam had almost fallen asleep himself when a voice to his left spoke up.

"I really didn't mean for him to get hurt," Dean said.

"I know, Dean," Sam said, then glanced reflexively at the other bed where Shawn was breathing deep and regular. Sam wasn't looking forward to waking him up in an hour for a concussion check, but it was better than the alternative.

"Just go to sleep, Dean," Sam said. "The witch said the spell was only good for seventy two hours. By morning you'll be your regular charming self again."

"Good," Dean said, his voice cracking halfway through and making him growl with frustration. "Puberty wasn't fun the first time around. I so do not want to go through it all again."

"Me either," Sam breathed fervently, a shudder rippling up his spine at the memories of what his brother was like the first time he was thirteen.

More shuffling and rustling as Dean lay back down and before long he too was breathing deeply in sleep.

Sam checked his watch one more time.

Six hours to dawn and—hopefully—the end of this special brand of hell.

* * *

Review, plz&thx.


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